


On Cloud Nine

by spockexis



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gay Pride, It's short I know, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, flashfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:23:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockexis/pseuds/spockexis
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley go to London Pride, and it's been forty years since their last pride.It's really short, I'm sorry,,





	On Cloud Nine

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not an english native speaker, so if you spot any mistakes (grammar, spelling and such) please let me know, it could be very useful to me!  
i know it's really short, but it's the first time i've written in english so i wanted to go easy on myself.  
that said, enjoy your reading.

It had been at least forty years since the previous time he had gone to pride with Aziraphale, and the mood felt completely different compared to the previous time.

  
Of course, the dynamics of this pride were totally different. After all, instead of being hostile, this time law enforcement was on the side of the activists; but it wasn't just this that made him feel strange. He turned towards Aziraphale, and observed him, while getting lost in his own thoughts; he found a way back only when he felt Azirapahle's left hand taking his right one. And suddently he could hear the crowd all around them. "Are you alright, dear?" asked Aziraphale, he sounded preoccupied. "Uh yeah, sure. I was just thinking, angel."

  
He squeezed Aziraphale's hand, and he smiled at him.

  
After making them walk for a bit, the main wagon stopped to stir up the activists, and Crowley seized the opportunity to kiss Aziraphale. He took his chin and turned his head gently, then he got close enough to make their noses almost touch; they both closed their eyes and Aziraphale pressed their lips together.

  
Aziraphale's lips were sweet, they tasted like peach tea, and were soft. Crowley's lips, instead, tasted like champagne; they always drank it together.

  
Their lips moved slowly, while Crowley caressed Aziraphale's cheek whith his thumb. It was as if they were the only ones left on that street, in that neighborhood, in all of London and in the whole world.

  
When their tongues touched, suddently it felt like being between the clouds, their wings outstretched and wind in their hair.  
And once again they were on the ground, when their lips parted.

* * *

Crowley held Aziraphale, alcohol in their veins, and flopped with him on their king-size bed.

  
With a snap of his finger their clothes were replaced with more comfortable ones, and he covered both himself and Aziraphale with the sheet. He left a kiss on Aziraphale's forehead, who fell asleep shortly after.

  
Now he knew where that strange feeling he felt during the pride came from: unlike forty years before, at this pride he went with someone that loved him. With someone who loved him genuinely, over his flaws, over his imperfections, who was always there for him, even when all he needed was to cry. Someone who loved him entirely and thoroughly.

  
That someone was Aziraphale, and he had no intention of letting him go for any reason at all, not now that they loved each other.


End file.
